2
Phoenix
I sit on my golden perch, watching my new master/keeper as he scribbles furiously on a piece of parchment. It is sad to see him bent over the table so, his twinkling eyes not shining at the moment, his face looking 20 years older, his usually smiling mouth turned down in a frown. I however can understand this, these are hard times and the darkness surrounds us, squeezing until we suffocate, hopefully it won't succeed.
I ruffle my feathers self-consciously, staring at all the trinkets and books and shelves and pictures on the walls. There is not a piece of wasted space everywhere, and all ticking and whistling and whispering and murmuring. And I struggle against my weakness; it is close to the burning day after all, and croon weakly. The man at the desk looks up at me and shakes his hand apologizing with his eyes before he goes back to work. I know there is no time for I have seen a million battles before this, and it is only a matter of waiting and seeing the amount of damage. There is always battle, it is a never-ending cycle, war and peace and war and peace, and they always think that nothing like that will happen again but it always does.
I am molting, and I watch with fascination as another one of my feathers detaches itself and floats to the floor gently, spiraling lazily. The Order should be here soon. And it will be strategies and discussions once more and then they will leave once again, some in tears, some in deep thought, but all thinking furtively that there could have been a way to stop this war. But all of them know there was no way and this is the nature and the way of humans. So they bicker and fight and get bitter. And the hope surges through them and then dies as another of their allies are captured or turn up dead. And then they hide behind one small, unfortunate child, and they force him to go out to battle. And I alone know that he will end it and if he dies they will honor him and then forget him, and if he wind they will do the same, or even worse forsake him and turn their backs on him and he will either go in the footsteps of our enemy or wilt and turn away and turn bitter.
I flutter to the ground, unable to sit on the perch any longer, and contemplate my long past…
When I was born first and served my first master, times were good and all was black and white, with more white than black. And then I could no longer entertain my master, so he crated the humans, in hopes of being their father to them as well as me. But as the years progressed and turned into centuries, humanity kept falling and there was more black then white in the world. And so my mater turned his back on them and left, his hopes shattered, disgusted with his creation. And his court followed and they locked themselves in a new world and never looked back, and I alone was left to care for this forsaken generation.
And I saw how they kept falling and how the black now bled into the white and white into black, and only shades of grey were left. And I watched as they fought and killed, washing themselves in others blood. I saw as cities fell and rose and new philosophies and thoughts and religions came and fell. And I felt tired of the world and disgusted of its inhabitants, as sick and I seeked my fire every time.
And then just as I thought that I would break and cry and retreat forever there was a new race. A race of wizards, and I escaped into their pure world. But that soon fell too and now there were wars and hate and torture and killing here too and even as they strove to rid themselves of the darkness they fell farther. And then this war started, and I wish I could leave this world too.
And although those who see themselves as "light" and "good" win, their hands too are soiled with blood and their mind filled with the thoughts of how they got rid of the evil, and there are sacrifices and sadness, and they rejoice and settle down and the victory forgotten in light of a new war. And it is a never-ending cycle and I am tired.
And the fire claims me and I know no more, lulled gently to a sleep with dreams of better times…